Mind Games
by Puca
Summary: My take on Finn's party in Pulp Friction. Oneshot. Rogan


**AN: An oneshot! This is probably the last thing you are waiting for with me having 3 stories hanging**** and all, but seeing that my mind has the tendency to run away with me these days, I could not stop it. I am trying real hard to get the "Next Best Thing" on the road again… but I am neck deep in illiterate mudd at the moment. Nevertheless, I hope you will enjoy my own little take of Rory's thoughts during Finn's party in "Pulp Friction". R&R  
**

**Eva**

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Gilmore Girls.

**Mind Games**

Hazel eyes. Hazel eyes with golden rays and lively honey swirls are set on me. The different colours mesh and dance. You are hypnotizing me. Your glance –slow, seductive- runs up my legs. You are motionless, standing on the other side of the room, and nonetheless I feel your hand on my skin, your fingers light yet unyielding. Goosebumps form on my thigh where your eyes linger just under the hem of my skirt. You glance up. Our eyes meet.

"_Shall I continue?"_ you ask silently. Your lips are not moving but I hear you loud and clear. Your breath hot in my neck, your whisper hoarse in my ear. Mind games. You are good at those. I can't tear my eyes away from yours; smouldering, challenging. Robert's words sound so far away, albeit his standing next to me. He touches my arm. The direct contact of his hand on me generating only a fraction of the feeling your eyes are triggering from across the room. You seem to be more affected than I by this innocent contact. Your jaw tightens, your eyes losing some of their smugness. Mind games. I am starting to learn.

"…and die completely alone and leave every cent to a parrot named Polly," my date finishes his rant and I force myself to look at him, well aware that your eyes are boring in my back.

"That's your entire goal in life." I give him a polite smile. We are here to celebrate another year of Finn. In _theory. _Yet as he - a character in his own right- dances past us in a severely inebriated state, I don't think he is going to mind, or remember, the fact that my mind is not entirely set on his birthday. Similarly, Robert is not going to mind the fact that we have nothing in common. Do you and I have? Probably not. Same way as we are portraying characters from different Tarantino movies at this shindig, we are part of different worlds in day to day life. You are you and I am me. Is there more to be said? Can I be like you or would that be playing dress up? However it might be, the curtains are up and the masquerade on full display.

You are kissing _her. _Your lips are in her neck and she shuts her eyes in appreciation. I try to avert mine, just like I did on State Street. My open-mindedness felt a pang of jealousy the way you touched her, spoke to her. It was then that I finally felt the small print of our agreement. A strange feeling of betrayal, disappointment, shame, whilst rationalizing that you in fact were doing nothing wrong. I have been naïve. You called me _special_ that night. I know now I'm not. You played the game, you won.

You glance up, your orbs scornful, your face buried in the crook of her neck. You almost look like a vampire, drinking her blood. Her head tilted to the side as she willingly offers you her throat. I stare back. It is what you want me to do, isn't it? There you have it.

You do not seem satisfied. The look in your eyes changes. They are hungry as they lock with mine. Your fingers brush over her bare arm and the hairs on mine stand up. Are you hungry for me? I scoff. Only you can have two girls in one kiss, one touch. That makes me wonder. Have I ever had your undivided attention?

As the music swirls through the room like the many dancing couples, I do not have to close my eyes to relive the feel of your lips on my skin. You're always an avid kisser. Surprising really, how you can be so devoted each time. Like a collector, dedicating your full attention to your collector's items. You make me feel as if I am the only one, each single time. Mind games. I wonder who taught you.

"So how about that drink?" I face Robert again and smile apologetically as once again my mind has drifted away. I am a lousy date.

"Nothing too strong?"

"I'll see what I can do." He seems glad to have something to do and disappears in the crowd. I once again feel guilty. How do you do it? String people along and not feel guilty one bit. As your lips are vacuuming your "brides" neck, your eyes set on me, how can you not feel one tiny glimpse of guiltiness? I look back briefly. You are not there anymore.

"Hey, Ace. Having a good time?" A quiver runs up my spine and my head flicks around. Did you next to your canning ability to drive women wild, master apparition? Your golden robe is unfastened, revealing your further apparel. A wife beater and silk boxers. Even though I have seen you in less, have seen you in nothing, I almost shy away from you and your scrutinizing glare.

"Good," I answer, searching the room for Robert as if in need of protection, someone in between me and you; a barrier.

"Good. That's good. Me, too. I'm having a good time too."

"Good." You are making me nervous. You are too close, way too close. My heart picks up speed as the corner of your mouth tugs up a fraction, building a foundation for your devilish smirk.  
"Yes, it is good." In one of your bandaged hands you are holding a glass of scotch and you lift it to your lips dampening them with the golden liquid, "I didn't know you knew Robert."  
My eyes seize darting through the crowded room and set upon yours. The almost juvenile sulky manner in which you have uttered that sentence nearly makes me smile. It couldn't be, could it?

"I met him at the Life and Death Brigade gathering," I reply, "and the poker game."

"Oh. Right, right." You break our eye lock and look away, unable to conceal the wavering in your voice, "Well, he must have made quite an _impression_." You are cocky, condescending and yet, the sarcasm dripping from your tongue does not cover up the childlike envy behind your sultry eyes. And if I did not know that now, your next comment makes it just that much clearer.

"He's kind of a jerk. Haven't you noticed he's kind of a jerk?"

With each of your words I feel less of a fool, I feel stronger. Now _you_ are on State Street and _you_ feel the small print. Isn't this what you wanted?

"Nope." Your eyes darken. I never knew a single word could be this powerful. Or maybe it is that no one has ever said no to you before. You search for something clever to say. With each second that ticks by on the beat of a tune blasting from the surround system, I feel myself rising higher and higher. Mind games. They can be quite invigorating.

"Night's young." You take another drink from your almost empty glass and grab my wrist, "Come on." Your grip is steadfast as you pull me through the sea of people. I'm right behind you demanding to know where we are going, while at the same time not caring about our final destination. Your iron grasp is starting to sting when you pull me into a corner. My back is pressed to the wall, my front to you. You make sure that we touch as much as possible as we once again lock eyes. I never noticed the green specks in them, and your intense gaze makes them even brighter. You lean in, making sure our cheeks touch as you go.

"You look great." I swallow, when your words carried on your warm breath delve in my ear. One sentence and you are on top, one sentence and you are hovering over me, one sentence and I forget that just moments ago it was the other way round. Mind games. The vanguard can change so fast.

You kiss me, before the resonance of my reply has died away fully. Your lips –rough, impatient – bruise mine. I taste scotch and a hint of coffee on your tongue. It's so easy to forget. So easy to get lost in your taste, your smell. So easy to get lost in you, like the fingers of my hand that are eagerly burying themselves in your hair. Everything seems to fade away. Everything but you and something else. _Her _sweet perfume is more than evident on your skin.

The music rushes back in and I open my eyes, my hand setting on your chest. I push.

"Logan, stop!" You grin. You are so well aware of what you do to me. You almost make me forget that I do something to you as well. That is both my weakness and my strength. It's hard to resist you once you have set a mind on something or someone… Tonight, however, I have set my mind on you. And I am not going to give in. Mind games. I challenge you.

You seem unaware as we banter. It has always been our major click, the playful manner in which we interact. Your fast mind keeping up with me, outrunning me, making me chase you, making me laugh. Tonight I am faster. Ever so often our lips meet in an interlude between our words. As you lean in again -brashly, smugly- I turn away.

"We can't do this here."

"You're right. Let's go." Your arms set at my waist as if you are ready to take me with you.

"Go where?" I ask freeing myself from you.

" Your place. My place. Let's take a train to New York, spend the night at the Plaza!" You have it all figured out, haven't you?

"We have dates." I remind you. You are not satisfied with the answer, running your hand through your hair in frustration, your eyes glistering with annoyance as you fail to see how irrational you are.

" I don't like this." I see you don't. I suppress a smirk.

"Like what?" I goad. I have never deemed myself someone who enjoys seeing other people squirm, but I would be lying if I said that I do not enjoy seeing you like this. Trapped, with your back to a wall I made.

"You here, with Robert."

" You're here with Whitney." I don't miss a beat. It's inconvenient, isn't it? When you can't have it both ways? Unfortunately, you made the rules. You made the bed and now you will have to lay in it.

"I know!" you shout, the desperation in your eyes unlike anything I have seen so far. It's bothering you and you don't like it. It's not so much Robert who is bothering you, it is the fact that you feel bother at all. I am starting to see.

"So, what's the problem?" I ask crossing my arms, my eyes boring into yours, till you glance away. You concede. My heart picks up speed. I can't believe you do.

" Enjoy the rest of the party." I turn around and leave you, disappearing in the crowd, till I don't feel your eyes in my back anymore. As sweet as victory had seemed upfront, it is not. It does not exactly leave a bitter taste in my mouth, but as I am drifting in the crowd I can't feel the ultimate satisfaction. In the end, I still want you. Nothing has changed.

Mind games. They always leave someone wounded. How long are we going to play them? I don't know. Perhaps we will never seize. Perhaps the curtain will never fall. Today I won. What will tomorrow bring?

The End

* * *

**AN: So this is unlike anything I have written. It felt strange to write it and at the same time it just…flowed out of my fingers. Hope you enjoyed it :) **


End file.
